Little Sticks of Heaven
by Packy 2.0
Summary: Mind over matter they tell you, but how do you control the mind when everyday you're surrounded by the very vice you're trying to evade? Well, you find yourself a distraction and you just fucking do it. Toothpicks,that's my distraction— my little sticks of heaven.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer is the queen of all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended. This story deals with smoking addiction and quitting, which may be uncomfortable for some.

Rated M for language and citrus.

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A/N: *waves* HELLO!

So, this all began on a Graduate Bitterness review. I teased Mac by telling her I'd send her a toothpickward teaser and she's been at it ever since. At the time, I had no intention to write it. I just figured since she loved toothpickRob then I'd throw that at her. Then, she had a dream; a Stephanie-Meyer kind of dream and well, I was around to help her run with it.

These may be mostly my words, but I could've never, ever think about doing it without RMacaroni. Most of the ideas are hers and a lot of the accurate grammar and spelling you see in here, is all because of her.

We really hope you enjoy our little story. As of right now, RMacaroni and myself has given birth to Toothpickward!

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I tell you… that devil, he loves me. I'm pretty sure God is the exact opposite. The past week has easily been the worst of my twenty eight years— and there are a lot of days in twenty eight years.

As I stand in my hotel room getting ready, I can't help but worry. Nothing has been going right and everything seems to indicate that tonight will be no different. This is _the_ night— the _one_ night of my career that I just want things to go over smoothly. I feel the need to fill this void. I need something I actually want to work in my favor. Just once in my miserable life—I need _this_.

Surely, that's not too much to ask?

But of course, my name is Edward Cullen. Nothing ever comes easy to a bastard like me.

It's been five days since I decided to quit smoking, and ever since it's been a catastrophe. Everywhere I go, everything I do, reminds me of _that_ cigarette. My body craves it like the fucking addiction it is.

I want it but I don't. I need it but I most certainly do not.

Mind over matter they tell you, but how the fuck do you control the mind when everyday you're surrounded by the very vice you're trying to evade?

Bullshit! This is the most tormented I've ever been in my entire life.

And to add insult to injury, we have lil miss Tanya over here; standing in front of me, hands fumbling over the bowtie around my neck.

"Would you hurry up? The dinner is in two hours, not two days," I hiss at her, already aggravated at her slowness. Her hands tremble against my chest, and her being nervous is actually plunging me deeper into my own anxiety.

God, I need that smoke.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, causing Tanya to startle. I know that if she stays here, I might do something I regret. Her hands reach out to get back to work on my tie, but I take a quick step back.

"I need to be alone right now."

"But Mr. Cullen…" she begins, but I can't even get over the fact that she's objecting me right now.

"I said leave, Tanya!" I almost shout, and thank fucking god she doesn't emit another sound as she scurries out of the room.

I walk across to the bed and take a seat on the edge. My head falls into my hands which are shakily suspended on my bobbing knees.

"Shit… shit… shit," I grumble and run a nervous hand through my hair. I fist the hair on the nape of my neck as I attempt to take in a few controlled breaths. I can't afford to freak out, not tonight. I can already feel a disaster in the making, but the biggest threat here is me. I need to get myself under control.

One hand lets go of my hair and pats its way down to my left pocket. I groan when I come up empty. I sigh deeply, trying again but this time, the right. A small smile tugs at my lips as my fingers run along the edges of the rectangular box there.

This box is my life now. The inside of this box holds the very things that both make me and break me.

Toothpicks.

That's right… _tooth-fucking-picks._

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a lungful as I remove the box from my pocket. As usual, I softly recite the words on the outside, almost like a prayer. Swallowing thickly, I open the box and produce one of the thin, cream sticks in my hand. I hold it in the center of my palm and in my mind, I think about the pointed ends and the thinness of the stick. I try to distract myself further, wondering about the length, where it's made, and even who spends time making such a thing, but no matter how much I try to block it, my mind always comes back to this one thought.

This stick— this fucking toothpick— is such a poor substitute for what I really crave.

I put up a mental block against that thought as I snake the tiny stick between my fingers. Finally deciding that I've wasted enough time sitting here wallowing, I thrust the toothpick into my mouth and jump off the bed. I shrug my shirt sleeve to glance at the watch on my wrist, noting that fifteen minutes has passed from the time I dismissed Tanya. I walk back over to the mirror, realizing my tie is still hanging loosely around my neck.

_Fucking Tanya Denali_.

Once I have that all tied up, I look up at myself in the mirror. With a Herculean effort, I attempt to ignore the way my eyes are dark and the droopy bags forming semi-circles beneath them. I pay no attention to the way my unruly hair is doing its own thing on my head. I even try to disregard the stubble that runs along my jaw and chin, even though I usually shave for high end events like these.

I fail horribly at the attempt to not notice all of the above and settle for acknowledging that there is nothing I can do about any of those things at the moment. I shake my head as I grab my jacket off the hanger of my suit bag, and walk out of the room, ready to be done with this shit.

The elevator ride is crowded and I feel smothered. Just what I need right now is for two senior citizens to be pressed up against my front and back.

When the bell dings signaling the first floor, I almost knock the people in front of me down, trying to get out. I completely ignore the audacity of a person calling me an a_sshole _as I make my way to the front door.

When I exit the hotel, I stop dead in my tracks at the sight before me.

Felix is leaning against the car… my car. His back is toward me, and I watch speechless as his hands drop from his lips, revealing my worst nightmare.

Now everyone has to smoke in my face? _FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC_!

He throws his head back, expelling a cloud of smoke from his nostrils in the space around him. My eyes trail the smoke as it swirls and slowly disperses into the air. My chest tightens, and my shoulders slump in defeat as I watch how his body seems to calm with every pull of smoke into his lungs.

I ache for that calm.

I dig my trembling hands into my eyes as I picture the way my chest would rise and fall with each intake and expel. The way my eyebrows would pull together at the center as I took in a drag. The way my eyes would flutter close at the feel of the smoke diffusing through every last part of my body. I even think about the way I would discard of the cigarette— the crunch of gravel ringing out in my ear, as I put the butt out under my feet.

'Christ Cullen, would you get a fucking grip' I tell myself, trying to control the boiling blood beneath the surface of my skin. My hands ball into white-knuckled fists at my side and my jaw clenches until the stick in my mouth snaps.

Spitting the broken toothpick out of my mouth, I clear my throat. Felix's body jolts upright and he straightens his posture as he quickly discards his cigarette and looks over to where I stand. His eyes go wide and I can easily identify regret and shame in his face.

"Mr. Cullen, I…" he says between coughs, and I can't stand the sound. I remember what it was like for me, just a few days ago, waking up, coughing and panting in my bed. "I thought you were going to be a little longer. I'm so sorry."

I hold my hand up, silencing him. The last thing I want is his apologies. I'm the one who quit smoking. Surely I couldn't expect the entire world to stop at my own decision, could I?

No, I couldn't, but that didn't stop me from wishing everyone did though.

"Look, I don't have time for this shit. Let's just get this night over with," I demand as I head over to where Felix is now holding the door open for me. I walk over to where he stands, instantly regretting that I need to get by him to enter the car. He reeks of tobacco like a mother fucker and I'm torn as to whether I'm fine with that or not. Actually, it's not quite that simple, I'm damn near about to lose my mind. My eyes close and I try to bar my intake of air around him.

"And where the fuck is Tanya?" I ask through clenched teeth. I'm about to ask Felix to take another vehicle because he can't be anywhere near me in here. I might be tempted to ask him for a cig and light that fucker up.

When I slide inside, Felix shuts the door. I am so fucking relieved to be away from the cigarette apocalypse of that outside world. I quickly forget about Felix, Tanya, and everything else as I make myself comfortable inside. The warm leather beneath me, coupled with the cool air inside the limo, feels like heaven all around me, and I sink back into the seat as I let my mind go wild.

I try to relax and think about how hard I've worked and how far I've come to even be considered as an invitee to the Annual Volturi Entertainment Party.

Three weeks ago, I managed to get my hands on the script of The Marine. I'd heard how production companies grappled over rights for this movie, and I knew it would be something big. Thank God, Tanya didn't mess up on getting me that script. I hadn't even read it yet, but when she called me and told me she got it, I just fucking knew.

This role had to be mine.

I devoured that script in less than two hours, sitting down with Tanya and discussing everything I would need in order to be in perfect shape in time for the auditions. The script was pretty intense, and I remember having to chain smoke my way through the entire reading. My head swims as I think about what landing this role could mean for me and my career. It was time for the world to see who Edward Cullen really was. Stepping out of my indie film realm, this role would finally put me on the map.

Tanya and I spent the entire week studying that project back and forth —cover page to end notes. It was obvious that I had to do some serious training and exercise to get in shape for this role. It's not like I didn't work out already or wasn't in shape, but I mean, this role called for an intense kind of training. I did everything from making notes on modifying my diet, to stocking up on reading material as background sources to help me channel the character in the best way possible.

I was so fucking ready.

Well, at least I thought I was. That was until a couple days into training.

I couldn't even do an entire three mile run, every two minutes stopping to catch a breath. I decided to get back into swimming, which I had never done much of since I became a full time actor. I failed miserably, not having the endurance to complete swimming drills. I fought to keep my breathing regulated in the water, often resulting in me pulling up and storming out of the pool and outside for a smoke.

It was motherfucking frustrating.

Cycling was no different. I was often winded even before meeting the mile marker and again, I would just relent and smoke the fuck out of my disappointment.

I started stressing.

The more I stressed, the more I smoked to ease the anxiety that threatened to eat me alive. I became fidgety and bitter ninety-nine percent of the time, snapping and going off on anyone and everyone close enough. Quite frankly, they were all undeserving of the wrath I forced upon them, but I couldn't help it. Something was wrong and I had no idea what it was.

So I called Carlisle.

The very next day I was at the doctor's office, blowing away into a Spirometer. The test was difficult and if anything, it made me want to smoke more. When the test was over, I talked to him about my anxiety and I listened as he told me that I had failed miserably on the pulmonary function test. He explained that my total lung capacity had decreased immensely, causing my intake of air to lessen over time. It also caused the amount of air I was able to take in and hold in extremely restricted, causing my lungs to work into overdrive.

I guess that's what smoking for the last decade of your life would do to you.

His next words shattered me, leaving me not only fearful for the fact that my career could be at the end of its road but so could my life.

"_Edward, I'm afraid if you continue consuming cigarettes the way that you do, you will very soon be faced with Pneumothorax—which in case you don't know, refers to lung collapse. And you and I both know what could happen to you if that were to occur."_

I'll never forget those words. They quite literally changed my life. It was then I vowed that I'd never, ever smoke another cigarette.

But you know what they say about that shit… easier said than done.

Even then, I tried to remain positive and determined. Carlisle warned me to lay low of any extremely rigorous exercises for at least two weeks.

I didn't fucking have two weeks.

He told me, my body would be in serious withdrawal mode from the sudden and impending denial of nicotine and I wouldn't be able to exert the force or strength I needed for that sort of training right now.

Fuck, if he wasn't right. Even my own personal exercises were becoming a task. I grew into this unfocused, confused, harsh and cold- hearted person. I spent my daytimes being annoyed at every little thing while anxiety attacks ruled my nights. Sleep became a stranger as I lay in bed, dreaming and wishing for just one last smoke. Times when I would doze off were useless, only to wake up a few minutes later, panting and sweating between the sheets.

I checked in with Carlisle yesterday, letting him know how I was coping with everything. He made notes on my profile and suggested that I even consider rehab.

The fuck?

He also threw out a few other alternatives. Everything from a nicotine patch, to eating four-six small meals instead of one-two big ones—from lowering my alcohol consumption, to talking to someone who have recently quit smoking or someone who can relate.

But it was this one other thing he told me that stuck with me. As my hands found my pocket again, I felt my saving grace. He'd told me to keep my mouth busy so I won't miss the feel of the cigarette poised between my lips. When he suggested toothpicks, I damn near laughed in his face; completely ignorant to the fact that it was probably the best thing he'd proposed all day.

I retrieve the box of wooden sticks and recite the words one more time before turning the box in my hands.

Little Sticks of Heaven.

So lost in my thoughts I am, that I don't even notice that we were at Volturi's already. The moment the car stops, I let out a huff when I see one… then two… then dozens of flashing lights swarm the limo. My body immediately tenses, as I try to prepare for the onslaught of the paparazzi outside. I was actually lucky I wasn't attacked leaving the hotel.

"You ready, Cullen?" I hear Felix ask, and I can only nod my head in response. He then steps out and runs around the vehicle. When he opens the door, I flick the box open and grab a toothpick before sliding the box back into my pocket.

With my wayfarers over my eyes and toothpick in hand, I step out of the limo. Thrusting the toothpick in my mouth, I plaster a wry smile on my face as unspeakable quantities of lights flash around and about me.

_You can do this, Cullen, _I tell myself as I maneuver my way down the line of paps. My name is being shouted in every direction as I take a few pictures and pose with a few other celebrities. Interviewers are on the sidelines, also putting in a few screams of their own.

"Edward,"

"Over here, Mr. Cullen."

"Where's your date tonight, Edward?"

"Is it true that you're interested in the lead role in the blockbuster movie, The Marine?"

"Is it true a recent health scare, and not to mention, that bad break-up, prompted you to quit smoking, Mr. Cullen?"

The last question stumps me, and I turn in the direction from where the question came. I see a fairly tall guy with a blond ponytail standing there with a camera stringed onto his neck. I remove my glasses to take a better look at him, but mostly because I want him to see the seething rage in my eyes. He cocks his head to the side and gives me a cocky grin before bringing the camera up to his eyes and snapping off a few shots. I pretend to ignore as he shouts at me.

"No need to confirm, Cullen. Your face says it all."

He laughs evilly and my body is searing with anger as I turn away, heading straight inside.

Fuck the press. I don't need this bullshit—definitely not tonight.

I storm into the ballroom, with Tanya trailing behind me. She's saying things, probably running over the sequence of events for tonight and whatever else, but I don't hear her— I can't hear anything over the dominant voices in my head encouraging me to run back outside and smoke the first cig I get my hands on.

I'm about to make my way straight to the bar to get me something to drink, when a heavy hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks.

"Edward, slow down," I recognize the voice as Emmett McCarthy, and he's infinitely high on the list of people I don't want to run into tonight.

"McCarthy," I great him, shaking his extended hand.

"McCarthy? What's with the formalities? Lighten up man; we're at a fucking party."

Lighten up? He has no idea how much I want to strangle him right now. At my sides, my hands fist and relax repeatedly in an attempt to calm down. But really, I need that fucking drink.

"I was just about to head to the bar," I tell him flatly. I really don't want to talk— to him or anyone else to be honest. Coming to think about it, I was beginning to feel that I couldn't even talk to Aro tonight if I had the chance.

"Damn straight. Put Pussy Cullen on a leash for just one night and come play with the big boys. Are you here with Lauren?" he says, turning his head, looking around the room.

"Ugggggh, don't fucking remind me of Lauren." I swear Emmett is master of saying all the wrong things at all the wrong times.

"Don't worry, I'll get your drinks," I hear from beside me and I turn to glare at Tanya. I'm being an asshole but I can't help it. I decide to try to turn my douchery down a notch since she practically rescued me from a very awkward conversation. I nod at her.

"I'll take a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and a double shot of bourbon— neat."

"I'll have a double shot of Jameson Gold— on the rocks; for now," Emmett finishes with a bang, speaking for the both of us before Tanya turns, heels clicking away towards the bar.

Emmett is rambling, going on and on about how his agent, Jessica, managed to get him a last minute squeeze in with Aro. I pretend to pay attention but quite frankly, every word out of his mouth annoys me further. Being constantly reminded of the fact that Tanya failed to get me any time at all with Aro tonight is actually getting on my last nerve.

And I don't think I have that many left.

We continue chatting and I'm laughing at some joke that really isn't even funny to begin with. But apparently, good ole friend, Karma, decides to crash the party because in the very next minute, I'm seeing red.

Literally seeing fucking red.

Wine— Red wine is now dripping down the shirt of my $2500 Gucci suit. For a moment, I can't look away from the mess drenched all over me. It's fucking horrible and thank God my jacket was unbuttoned because it so very nearly escaped ruin. I could feel the liquid, seeping through my shirt and onto my skin.

It feels dirty.

I want this shit off me. I want to kill Tanya. I want to get out of here.

I want a motherfucking smoke, GODDAMMIT!

After a moment of mental calm down rituals and a few breathing exercises, I manage to be able to tear my eyes away from the mess on my torso to see the dumbest look on Tanya's face. So help me God, the girl is on her hands and knees in front of me, attempting to pick up splinters of broken glass instead of finding a way to get me cleaned up.

What is she doing? And who the fuck brings red wine in a champagne flute anyway?

"To your feet, Tanya," I tell her, and she wastes no time getting into apologies, her voice insulting me more and more with every uttered syllable.

"You… you get me NO FACE TIME with Aro tonight but that wasn't enough, was it?" I sneer, hardly in control of any of the words coming out of my mouth. "Do you know that Emmett here has already seen Aro tonight, Tanya?"

Her eyes flicker from mine to Emmett. In my periphery, I see him shrug his shoulders.

"One thing I ask of you tonight… one thing and you manage to fuck it up. How could you fuck up a simple task as bringing me a glass of red wine, huh?"

She looks away from me, dropping her head in shame.

"No no no, look at me. Look at what you did. THIS IS ALL YOUR DOING. YOU DID THIS!" I shout; there's music all around but I hope no one's paying attention to my little fiasco.

When she looks back up at me, the tears are too much for her eyes, some spilling over and sliding down her cheeks.

"Oh please, Tanya. Don't start with the tears. This is the real world. People mess up and they pay for it," I tell her, not an ounce of sympathy left in my body. "Matter fact, I think it'll be best for all of us— if you just leave."

"But Mr. Cullen, I…"

"No no no." I shake my head at her rebuttal. "It's quite all right. Your services are no longer needed. You can go now."

I lean in, bringing my lips to her ear.

"I'm so done with you, Tanya."

She's standing there, looking at me and I'm wondering why is she still here. I nod my head, showing her that she doesn't need a map to find the exit. She gasps softly and then she's walking away.

When I regain a more rational function of my brain, I notice Tanya making her way to the door.

_Holy fucking shit… did I just fire my agent?_

I'm seething. My hand reaches up and wipes across my clammy forehead, coming away damp with beads of sweat.

"Hey," I hear Emmett say beside me, his hands on my shoulder. "You look like you need one of these, man."

I'm out of there before his hands even make their way into his pocket. If he was about to offer me a cigarette…

God, I can't even think of it.

Suddenly, I feel stifled. I need air.

I look around the room searching for my escape, hitting the jackpot when my eyes fall on the half-open balcony doors. Before I tell my brain where to go, my feet are already moving me in that direction. I steal two glasses of whiskey from a waiter's tray and chug them down in consecutively.

"Fuck," I cry out, the liquid burning my throat and chest as it infiltrates its way into my system. I rest both glasses on a side table as the room starts spinning slightly around me. My hands grip onto the wall to steady myself. When I regain composure, I loosen the tie around my neck leaving uneven ends hanging loose on both sides.

With eyes closed, I stumble best as I can to the doors, pushing it open and making my way out onto the balcony. I take in a huge lungful, my body needing a breath of fresh air.

_What the fuck?_

My eyes fly open and I start coughing profusely. This air is anything but fresh. I stagger back a few, unsteady steps, throwing a hand over my face and blocking my nose completely. I'm even afraid to breathe in through my mouth at his point; any further intake of _this _air could be dangerous.

When I finally look up from under my arms, what I see makes every hair of my body stand on end.

The Devil wears Prada herself.

Rosalie Hale.

"Edward… Darling… Hello!" she says, taking a few steps my way. Her voice rivals the sounds of nails being scraped on the hood of a car. "Don't you look," she pauses as her eyes study my ruined suit. "Well, dashing."

Her tone is teasing, no doubt basking in my suffering while dealing her own hand.

I match each of her steps with a backward step of my own, at least until my back hits the rail behind me. She closes the remaining distance between us and my skin itches at the proximity her body presents to mine. She pulls the cigarette up to her lips and I watch as her chest swells with the intake of smoke.

_FUCK MY LIFE… IN THE ASS!_

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, she's dipping in, bringing her face to mine. Unexpectedly, her torso deflates as she expels the smoke from her lungs and into my face. I try my best to hold my breath but the action is too slow and the vapor rushes into my lungs like it belongs there.

My eyelids flutter close in a moment of relapse. It burns… the fucking smoke blazes through my body like an inferno and as much as I want to reject it, I can't. It feels so fucking good. I'm easily imagining the feel of the cigarette between my own fingers or nestled behind my ear. I even see it poised between my lips or even packaged in my pockets.

Fuck, I miss this shit.

I swallow and then I swallow again.

_Once… twice… three times… four._

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Rosalie chimes in, and I have to wonder if she is some sort of mind reader. My eyes reopen and I look down at her hands where her own cigarette burns. Her eyes follow the movement. "Oh, you want one? I happen to have some more where that came from."

Her arrogant smile and her mocking tone is enough to draw me out of my smoke-induced trance. There is no doubt that she fucking knows— everyone who is anyone knows that I quit smoking. I had no idea that when I stepped out of my doctor's office, about fifteen paps would be there, trying to document my visit. Next day, my name dominated the tabloids under the heading— Is Edward Cullen considering rehab after his smoking addiction causes health scare?

And here she is, blowing smoke in my face and offering me cigarettes. She's trying to destroy me but I can't help the way my body wastes no time rejoicing in the visual of the smoking stick, begging me to take it inside, where it belongs.

_It's never enough. Nothing is ever enough._

But fuck, I have to resist this.

"No," I grunt, tearing my eyes away from her hands. My heart thumps unsteadily in my chest and my breath comes out in harsh rasps.

"You will not be the ruin of me, Rosalie Hale. Not here, not now. I won't allow it," I spit between pants, pushing myself away, bumping into her and back inside.

I run into Felix when I get there. He hands me a fresh shirt and I take it without even saying thanks, almost running to the bathroom. I have déjà vu from the elevator ride earlier and I just want to push or trample every single fucker out of my way.

When I get into the bathroom, I quickly check the stalls making sure I'm alone. When the room comes up empty, I slam the door shut, locking the entrance. Throwing my shirt over the door of one of the stalls, I silently scream into the room, hands fisting in my hair, yanking hard. I pace the bathroom, hands everywhere at once; in my hair, behind my neck, rubbing at my temples. Before too long, I become winded and I slouch over panting, my fingers on my thighs, digging into them.

I finally walk over to the sink, turning the tap on and letting the cold water run. My fingers drum along the edge of the porcelain bowl as I study my reflection in the mirror.

I've never seen worse.

My eyes are tired and empty, no green there anymore—just black, surrounded by a sea of white. My nostrils flare repeatedly as I have yet to get my elevated breathing back to normal. My hair is everywhere it's not supposed to be, as usual. My lips are tight, my jaw clenched and set. I am sweaty and fidgety and I watch as my fingers tighten around the edge of the sink.

The overall picture is frightening, and I have no fucking clue who the person staring back at me is. I cup my hands under the running water and bring it up, splashing it about my face and hoping that this will wash away the agony.

It doesn't. Not by any stretch.

But it does cool my body down. The cold water against my hot skin feels like rain to a desert drought. I make quick work of removing my soiled shirt and splashing water all about my chest and at the back of my neck, needing to release at least some of the tension there. I sap some water in my hair as well, hoping that the chaotic mess both inside and out would be tamed.

When I feel that my body has cooled off enough, I grab a few too many paper towels to dry my hair, face and chest before changing into my new clothes. I move a couple strands of wet hair that flopped onto my forehead back into place and tighten the tie around my neck. I look somewhat presentable again and I just have a few more hours of this to endure before I could get away from this hell.

Not forgetting my saving grace, I reach into my pocket. Before I know it, a toothpick is in my hand, then in my mouth and I head back to the party beyond these walls. With my hand suspended on the doorknob, a new realization becomes clear. Not only do I not have a meeting with Aro tonight— I am also acutely aware that I don't have an agent.

I have no idea how this night could get any worse. I need something to help me get through the rest of this night and escape with the little of my sanity I have left.

I shake my head, opening the door, the answer hitting me square in my chest when I see it— or rather her.

My distraction.

Isabella Swan.

Her back is to me and she's talking to Rosalie.

Rosalie is going on and on about something I couldn't even care about if I tried. What I do notice though, is the way Isabella's shoulders slump, her face bouncing around the room unfocused.

"Yes, Miss Hale… Sorry, Miss Hale… It won't happen again, Miss Hale."

I lean back onto the wall, crossing my hands across my chest; watching with a smile on my face from afar as Rosalie and Isabella interact. Before too long, Rosalie glances up in my direction and gives me a sardonic smile.

"Oh, before I forget," her voice is slightly raised now, no doubt to make sure I hear whatever she's about to say next.

"I have that meeting with Aro at 11:30pm. Some unlucky bastards at this party would give up a lung for this opportunity, so don't fuck this up, Isabella."

As Rosalie walks away, laughing under her breath, my blood boils like lava under my skin. So fucking ungrateful that Rosalie. She has eyes but she can't even see what a good fucking thing she has right there in front of her. She has someone who not only managed to get her an interview with Aro Volturi but who also hasn't dumped red wine all over her front.

I'd seriously consider killing for someone as remotely responsible, professional and amazing as Isabella Swan as my agent.

Wait… This is exactly what needs to happen.

I need an agent and Rosalie Hale needs to be taught a fucking lesson. And I don't have to kill anyone to achieve either.

My eyes lock back onto Isabella and I can't help but chuckle as she ever so discreetly flips the bird to Rosalie's retreating form. She bitchfaces at Rosalie and she's just adorable, whisper-shouting all sorts of things I have no idea about. But I don't care because watching her shoot up like a firework across the room from me, is the best thing I've seen all day.

Hell, best thing I've seen in months.

Isabella composes herself, professionally running a hand through her hair and down over her dress. Her fingers trace along a necklace that dangles halfway down her chest. My eyes take the slightest detour downward and I am amazingly graced with the most spectacular view of cleavage I've seen in— well let's just say, a while. Before I can ogle them any better, she turns on her heels and fuck, she's leaving.

I may not know many things but one thing I do know— where she goes, I go. My legs shoot forward, following in her footsteps; until I notice the direction of her steps. My steps grow hesitant when I realize that she's heading toward the place… the one place I never want to see again. Well at least, not tonight.

The balcony.

I need to talk to her but not there— definitely not there.

I quicken my footsteps, hoping to catch up with her before she goes out_. _When I get close enough, my hand shoots out, wrapping around her wrist and giving her a slight tug in my direction. Her steps waiver.

"It's really crowded back that way. Trust me; you do not want to be out there." She flinches when I touch her and she must recognize my voice because she tries to pull her hand away almost instantly.

But I hold on— never letting go.

"Who the hell are you to tell me what I want, Cullen? You don't even know me," she sneers, without even looking at me.

"Hey," I say, holding up the hand that is not currently wrapped around her wrist. "All I'm saying is, you seem to need a breather as much as I do. The balcony is not the place to go. Come with me?"

She spins around, finally extracting her hand from mine. Her stare is direct and piercing as she steps into me.

"What makes you think following you would do me any good? You're nothing but trouble, Cullen. Always has and always been."

Her words are as penetrating as her gaze. She's judging me and it claws at me.

She has no idea what I've been through in the past couple weeks. But I don't tell her any of that. I just ignore her comment, frantically thinking about ways to lure her anywhere but that dreaded balcony.

"Look, just… come take a walk with me."

"A walk? Edward, are you out of your mind?" she objects, but I can see it in her eyes, she needs an escape just as much as I do. "I don't have time for a walk, especially with you of all people."

Judging me… judging me.

"Shit… would you please… just for a second… fuck," I mutter, rubbing my hands over my face. I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a heavy breath. As much as I want this to happen right now, Isabella is proving to be quite trying.

And everyone knows what happens when I get aggravated.

"Look, I just need to get away, all right? And I… I don't think I can do it alone. Come with me, please?" I say on shaky breaths. Every time she shuts me down, I crave that cigarette a little bit more.

She looks me over, noticing that my body is slightly trembling and my breaths are quick. I need fresh air, I yearn for it. I say a silent thank you to the sun, moon and stars when I see her turn away from the balcony and head to the exit at the back of the building.

I rush along ahead of her, holding the door open as we walk outside.

Finally some fresh fucking air.

I take the toothpick out of my mouth and toss it aside, needing to take breath inside of my body any possible way that I can. The wind is slightly chilly but I don't mind because the feel of the cool spring night against my skin and inside my lungs is quite heavenly. I close my eyes and let myself just be for a while. The anxiety in my body drains with each deep pull and expel of air and for the first time tonight, I don't feel suffocated.

Before too long, paradise is snatched from right between my fingers when I hear the rustling of leaves beside me. I groan, looking over to where Isabella is walking a little way off from me. Her arms are wrapped around herself, body shivering against the cold air.

"Here," I say, shrugging off my jacket and handing it to her.

"You don't have to do that," Isabella protests, as usual. I'm beginning to think that she doesn't appreciate anyone doing anything to help her. Or could it just be me?

"I know I don't _have_ to do anything, Isabella," I tell her. "I'm an idiot for asking you to come out here with me when I didn't even think about how chilly it'd be. Please, humor me and take the damn jacket."

She rolls her eyes but she relents, and that's all that matters. She stretches out her hands to take the jacket but I snatch it away, walking over to where she stands. Standing behind her, my eyes meet her shoulders. She has the most gorgeous set of freckles dusted across her shoulders and the upper part of her back. I drape the jacket over her, using the action as an excuse to brush my fingers along her neck in the process.

Her body shivers at the contact but this time, I know it's not from the wind chill because the same current simultaneously courses through my body. Isabella quickly spins around, her eyes looking into mine.

She's searching, hunting for hidden motives. Does she think I brought her out her to seduce her?

I mean, I wouldn't be against that per se, but it wasn't my main intention.

I don't want her to run from me, so I take a quick step away from her, putting some distance between us. There is this weird feeling as I move away, my body already missing that nearness to her.

I drop my head, watching as my feet kick at the soft dirt on the ground. I pull myself together, reminding myself why I brought Isabella out here. When I finally gather myself and look up, Isabella is busy digging through her purse.

My panic instantly spikes.

"Woah woah woah," I say, scooting back and away from her. I hold my hands up, palms facing forward in case she doesn't already get the memo.

_Are you fucking kidding me? If she starts smoking out here, I'm going to lose my shit._

"It's just lip gloss, Cullen. Jeez, calm the fuck down, will you?" she says as she removes the cap from the bottle. I stare at her as she applies the gloss to her red lips and holy shit, if I don't wish those were my lips brushing against hers instead. She passes the brush three times along her bottom lip and two times along the top. I hope she's paying no attention to me as my tongue mimics the strokes of the brush against my own lips.

It's actually quite embarrassing and a little pathetic even but I don't give a fuck.

She finishes up her glossing, pulling her lips in and releasing them with a pop. It is only now as she stands, there under the light of the moon, that I really begin to appreciate how fucking dazzling she is in that red dress.

The dress is long and flowing along the length of her body. The cleavage presents a very deep V and her breasts are just fucking ideal for it. Not too big, not too small— just perfect. I'm guessing there's some lace in the back but I can't be sure because of my jacket over her. Isabella does not have on an absurd amount of makeup and I'm glad because it used to irritate the shit out of me when Lauren would cake so much of that thing on her face.

Her hair is pinned away on her head and I love the way her little ears are visible. A few tendrils of hair fall around her face and under the moonlight, this girl… she is absofreakinglutely stunning. She's glowing and by far, the most beautiful person at this party tonight.

"What are we doing here, Cullen?" I am snatched away from my daydream in the night at the sound of her voice. I look her in the eye trying to come up with a way to tell her what I intend to do with her. I know this is going to be a tough one to crack, and I'm already feeling the nerves creeping in. On instinct, my hand reaches for my pocket, and grabs a toothpick, placing it in between my teeth. Isabella takes one look at me and scoffs.

"What's with the toothpick, anyway? Is that supposed to be some sort of fashion statement?"

Holy fuck, why does this woman insist on calling me out? She really has no idea does she?

I shrug my shoulders, deciding that withholding this truth would probably do more harm than good. And I could use all the cooperation I can get right now.

"If you must know, Isabella, I'm just trying really fucking hard not to have a smoke." I walk past her and make my way to the gazebo ahead. Taking a seat on the bench, my head sinks into my hands as I try not to lose control. I loathe talking about smoking as much as I do being around people who smoke. It's ridiculous how my skin crawls every time someone asks me about smoking, or about quitting or so help me god, when people ask me if I want a smoke.

"I quit a week ago after a health scare. My doctor basically told me, it was either quit or die. He's been telling me it's bad for quite some time now, but I guess, I was ignorant. I couldn't stop, you know? Or rather, didn't want to. I don't know, still trying to figure everything out."

Before I know it, I'm pouring my heart out to the fucking woman. I tell her about what this role means to me, how much I want and need it. I describe my week in training hell; how boot camp kicked my ass as well as my swimming and regular exercise routine failures. I tell her about the doctor's visit and when Carlisle told me, quitting couldn't be just an option anymore or else my addiction would ruin me and my career.

I told her about my week; how my anxiety spiked due to my body's failure to accept my nicotine deprivation. I tell her all that had happened to me tonight— everything from getting ready at my hotel room to this very moment. Well everything except the part about Tanya. She doesn't need to know the specifics about _that_ just yet.

By the time I finish telling her just about everything, I'm damn near exhausted. I'm so fucking tired of talking about that shit. It drives me crazy.

I remove my face from my hands to see Isabella looking at me, her mouth slightly ajar, in the soft shape of an o.

"Don't fucking look at me like that, Isabella," I snap and look away from her, not really liking the look on her face. "I don't need your pity."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," she mumbles and although I'm looking off at the side, I can hear her footsteps headed in this direction. My skin prickles with heat as I feel the distance between us lessening, my body feeling right again when she sits next to me.

"Hey," she calls, placing a hand on my arm. I turn towards her but my eyes are locked on her fingers around my bicep. "You didn't have to tell me about that, you know."

"I didn't want to but I needed to."

"I'm not following. You needed to? Why; and why me? Who am I to you?" she asks and it's a legitimate question.

Why her? Why Isabella Swan?

"Because you're here," I tell her and it's the truth. "Because you're here and I need you."

"Need me? Whatever for?"

"I need a shot with Aro Volturi— tonight."

I look over at her and she's staring at me as if in shock.

"Okayyyy, and where's your agent?" she asks, and I scoff at her words. The last fucking thing I need right now is to remember the disaster of the night that happened a few hours ago. By the way, did she not hear me just say I needed HER!

"I just fired her actually. There's no room for fuck-ups, especially on a night like this."

"Smart move, Cullen," she spits and its venomous, the sarcasm in her tone burning in my ears like acid. "But how exactly do you intend to get through to Aro without an agent?"

I can see I'm going to have to spell this out for her.

I lean forward, turning my entire body to where she sits on the bench across from me. Pulling the stick from its comfort zone between my teeth, I instantly miss the feel of salvation in my mouth. I focus my eyes on her body, pointing the toothpick over to where she sits. Her eyes go wide as realization sets in—_finally_.

"_I… want… you!_" I tell her, stressing every last syllable in case my actions left any doubt at all there.

What I wasn't prepared for was her body launching off the seat and moving back and forth along the diameter of the gazebo. Her actions remind me of myself when I was in the bathroom a while ago. I quickly push that thought back, not wanting to stimulate a repeat.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" She's flustered, hands flailing wildly all around her. It's quite arousing and I want nothing more than to throw her down onto this bench and take said hands in mine and prop them over her head.

"No, but I'm about to."

"I already represent Miss Hale, Edward. I can't just walk away from that," she says, but I don't believe her, not for one bit.

"Oh but you know you want to, Isabella. She doesn't fucking deserve you. She doesn't want you."

"And you do?"

"I do." I nod, rising from my seat on the bench. Isabella sees my approach and she's walking backward, contradicting me. I move my body forward, her retreat beckoning my advance. I hear a soft oomph as her back bounces into the rail. I chuckle and shake my head, thinking that this couldn't possibly get any better. When I reach over to her, I place both my hands on the rails beside her, caging her in.

It's not enough. I want more.

I drop my hands and move closer into Isabella. I bring myself so close that a string of thread would have difficulty getting through us. I press myself against her, lips only inches from hers. My eyes travel to her lips and the sight of her bottom lip embedded between her teeth causes my dick to twitch in my suit pants. I resist the urge to press my hard on into her stomach as my hands reach up and tug on her bottom lips. Her teeth releases it and I run my thumb along the bite marks there.

"I want you," I tell her again. I don't think I could ever say it enough. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Really, the statement and question combined is a double edged sword.

Isabella's breaths come in heavy pants beneath me, her eyes frantically racing over my face. I could see the dilemma in them, the war between wanting to give into what feels right and what actually is.

"What's in it for me?" Her voice is so little. Next to the frogs and who knows what other living things live in the lake nearby, I hardly hear her.

"Hmmmmm," I say, bringing a finger to my chin and tap on it, pretending to think. Isabella lets out a soft chuckle and I know she's enjoying this just as much as I am.

Well maybe not as much but pretty close.

I look at her face and bask in how beautiful she looks under me. I can't help but think of her in the same position in a different situation— a more private one. I tuck a tendril of hair away from her face, slipping it behind her ear. I move my face closer to hers, my lips barely brushing against her ear lobe. I know she can feel my breath on her when she shudders, almost losing her balance. One of my hands wrap around her waist keeping her upright as I whisper into her ear.

"You trust me, don't you?" I ask her rhetorically, not really waiting on a response. "I'm going to take good care of you, Isabella."

I pause, for nothing more than dramatic effect.

"In ways Rosalie can't even begin to." When I hear her breath hitch in her chest, I know that the deal is sealed.

"You're such a cocky bastard, Cullen."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet, Miss Swan," I tell her, nipping on her ear gently before pulling up and away from her body entirely.

"Get me time with Aro and you'll see just how _cocky_ I can be."

And just like that, although my body protests against it, I walk away from her heading back inside.

* * *

Still with us? Our boy is having a crazy night, and it's far from over.

So, this was supposed to be an o/s but we decided to do turn it into a two-shot of sorts. The latter half should be posted no later than Sunday. It's already written and just has to be chiseled a bit.

See you guys then!

PackyMac :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer is the queen of all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended. This story deals with smoking addiction and quitting, which may be uncomfortable for some.

Rated M for language and citrus.

* * *

A/N: *waves* Well hello there, beautiful people.

So we're back with Part 2!

Not much to say here except thank you, thank you and yeah, did I say THANK YOU, to everyone who read, reviewed, pimped or alerted. Your support means the world to us. All the love in the world to Mac guys, she's incredible. She's been here every night for the past week, toughing it out with me. And, let me tell you, she has patience like a surgeon! Trust me, my laptop, Rose has put us through A LOT with her epic fails.

Welp, so his is it. THIS IS IT! Hope you enjoy guys!

* * *

Previous chapter:

"_You trust me, don't you?" I ask her rhetorically, not really waiting on a response. "I'm going to take good care of you, Isabella."_

_I pause, for nothing more than dramatic effect._

"_In ways Rosalie can't even begin to." When I hear her breath hitch in her chest, I know that the deal is sealed._

"_You're such a cocky bastard, Cullen."_

"_Oh, you haven't seen anything yet, Miss Swan," I tell her, nipping on her ear gently before pulling up and away from her body entirely._

"_Get me time with Aro and you'll see just how cocky I can be."_

_And just like that, although my body protests against it, I remove my jacket from over her shoulders and I'm walking away from her heading back inside._

* * *

I'm inside and leaning up against the bar on the far right hand corner of the grand room.

It's already been ten minutes— _where the fuck is she?_

I wait; yet another five minutes flies by but Isabella is nowhere in sight.

My heart races in my chest as I consider what exactly this could mean. I mean, it could only be one of two things.

Either she is still out there, contemplating my little proposal or she just fucking ditched me altogether.

My fingers tighten against the glass in my hand and I bring it up to my lips, downing its contents in a quick motion.

"Ugggggh," I grunt, but the burn in my throat is welcomed because it distracts me from the other burn I sense coming. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't handle any type of rejection well. I've been so used to getting what I want lately, that I forgot what refusal even feels like.

"Fuck… fuck… fuck," I chant repeatedly, not believing that I'm actually considering going back out there and dragging her ass in here. I feel a tingle at the ends of my fingers and I wrap them around each other. I know what my body wants.

It wants it… that cigarette. It's a fucking ghost that won't stop haunting me.

"My god, where have you been, Isabella?"

My head snaps up at the sound of her name. Although the voice that said it was harsh and not to mention Rosalie's, I can't help the surge of relief that courses through my body.

_She didn't bail… She didn't leave me._

I look to where the voice came from to find Rosalie and Isabella in yet another standoff. Isabella is standing, talking to Rosalie. Well more like, standing there, absorbing her words. She's apologizing, again and no matter how much I want to rush over there and rescue her from her torture cell, I don't.

I just sit and watch.

I notice that her hands are crossed behind her back and in them is my jacket. Clearly, she's trying to hide it.

Rosalie marches off eventually, leaving Isabella standing there. She does a master's job at maintaining a straight face, supposedly for professional purposes. I, however, am not fooled. Behind her eyes lurk hurt and shame but more importantly— realization.

Now she definitely knows what I told her just a few minutes ago was true.

Rosalie doesn't deserve her and she never will.

_But do you? Do you deserve her, Cullen?_

I wasn't even sure but I was willing to try to do everything I can to win her over. Who knows, maybe I am what she needs just as much as she is for me.

I continue to watch Isabella. At first, I watch her, thinking she must be some crazy person as she throws my jacket over the back of some chair.

_What the fuck is she doing to my $2500 Gucci Jacket? _

Before I get anymore enraged by her careless actions, I walk across the room, retrieve my jacket and head back over to the bar.

I resume my Isabella watch. My eyes never leaving— not even for a second.

She is as magnificent as fluorescent rays of light as she bounces around the room, interacting with other actors and their guests and team. She is talking to Emmett and Alec, and they're apparently sharing a joke because her head tilts far back in laughter. Her grin is wide and pulling at her eyes. My lips instantly turn up at her because her aura is just that infectious. She's so fucking beautiful when she smiles and my mind speeds away, thinking about 101 different ways I could make her smirk, grin, smile and giggle.

Isabella excuses herself from her company and is heading over to a new group of people. My eyes never leave her as she travels across the room. She talks to a few more people and accepts a drink from Alice Brandon. I feel like a creepy ass stalker just sitting her and DVR-ing her every move but she's making me anxious. I don't see any indication from her that she is going to go to Aro soon.

Scratch that, she's making me really fucking anxious.

I turn away for a bit to get a refill on my scotch. When I turn back, searching the crowd, I meet her piercing stare. I have her attention, even just for a second and I intend to use that to my very advantage.

Quirking an eyebrow, I raise my glass in the air. I silently mouth cheers before poising the glass to my lips. I watch as her eyes widen when I wink at her before taking a quick sip of my drink. Isabella swallows in a large breath of air, and I can't help but smirk devilishly at her when I remove the glass from my lips. I see her mouth _fuck_ and then she is moving. I can't help the insane amount of joy I feel when I see her headed right to the circle that consists of the people who could make things happen for me tonight.

Aro and the Volturi Brothers.

She approaches the group and embraces each one of the brothers, Aro then Marcus and finally Caius. When Aro excuses himself from the group, nerves bundle up into little tumbleweeds inside my stomach. They ascend the staircase and I know that could only mean that they're on their way to his office. I watch on, my eyes not willing to break hold until they disappear. When they do, I quickly down the remainder of my drink.

"Keep 'em coming," I grunt to the bartender as I pat my pocket and find the box there. Taking out a toothpick, I place it between my lips, feeling somewhat calmer. Isabella is up there with Aro right now, and although I slightly cringe at the fact of her being alone with any man— other than me; I know that I did this. I put her into that situation, so I'd just have to be a man about it.

That still doesn't mean I don't want to run up that stairs and hold a glass to the door and listen.

Yeah, that would be a little much. So instead of being a crazy lunatic, I just sit back, eyes peeled on the staircase, waiting for them to return.

* * *

After what seems like twenty hours, which actually is only twenty minutes, Aro and Isabella make their way back. I look at her face, Aro's and then back to hers as they both descend the stairs and return to the party. The fact that I can't read any of them is killing me right now. I've never had so much difficulty reading anyone before.

_Fuck my life._

I'm already sweating. My jacket is back off and my tie has, once again, gone loose around my neck. My shirt sleeves are rolled up to my elbows and my first two buttons barely survive, almost being yanked off my shirt. It feels Sahara- desert scorching in here and to make it seem a little bit more on the hell side; Isabella does not come to me. Oh no, apparently she has far more important things to discuss with Eric Yorkie.

I am livid.

Does she not know how nervous I am over here, waiting for her to come and tell me what happened with Aro? Does she not know how much I want to run outside and smoke the first fucking cigarette I see?

_And, did someone fuck with the AC in this place or what?_

Instantaneously, I slam my glass down on the bar top. I grab my jacket from the bar stool next to me and I move through the crowd. It doesn't take me long to get to where Isabella and Eric are engrossed in conversation.

"Isabella, what the fuck?" I hammer, not able to turn on my verbal filter in time. "What are you doing to me?" My voice is forced as my jaw sets and my breaths pick up. I'm just about ready to go off.

"Edward, this is not the place or the time. I'm…" she starts, but I cut her off.

"I don't have time… please!" I pant and watch as her eyes run the length of my body. Her face is a mix between scared and shocked as she notices my condition. I close my eyes, not wanting to see in her eyes how horrible I look to her.

"Edward, are you okay?" Her hands are on my face and I close my eyes, fighting off the urge to lean into her touch. A moan is building in my chest but how fucking awkward would that be with Yorkie standing just there?

"No," I whisper to her and before I know it, she's pulling me across the room and out into the hall. When we get to the tea room, Isabella instructs me to stay here as she disappears. A few seconds later, the door opens and she pulls me in, locking it from the inside.

I am suddenly aware that this is just me… and her.

Edward and Isabella. Something about it, I don't know what, but it feels right.

"Sit!" she commands and I respond. She stoops in front of me and I feel her hand run across my forehead and down the side of my face.

"You're so hot," she says, as her hands run down under my neck.

"Why, thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

Isabella rolls her eyes and stands back up quickly, walking over to the sink and grabbing a few paper towels. She turns the tap on, running water on the tissues before walking back over to me.

"I meant your temperature, Cullen. Don't flatter yourself," she tells me, as she wipes the towels around my face. My skin cries out from the icy feel against it. I lean back and my eyes flutter close, unable to control the sensations shooting through my body.

When she moves to my neck, I swallow thickly. She runs the towels along the sides before coming across to my Adam's apple. Her bare fingers grazes against it and I try my best not to dwell on the swell occurring in my jeans right now.

I feel her hands trailing south and my breath hitches in my chest. I'm beginning to think something is seriously wrong in there. My hands shoot out, grabbing at her wrists, stopping her in her tracks.

I honestly don't want to make it through the rest of the night with an uncomfortably, painful hard-on.

"Isabella, you're making me crazy," _In more ways than one_, I want to add but I don't. "Please, tell me what the fuck you were doing up there with Aro… for so long?"

She rises from her stooping position, walking back over to the sink. She washes her hands, saying nothing.

"Isabella!" I almost scream, needing her to say anything at this point. "I can handle if he said no, but please, just fucking say something."

She turns to face me, her eyes closing briefly before opening again.

"You meet Aro in 30 minutes, Edward."

_Fucking hell, I am._

Before I even know what I am doing, I am hoisting Isabella off the ground and into my arms. She lets out a surprised squeal as I spin her around. My head is swimming with all the alcohol I had tonight, but none of that exists at the moment. The only thing that matters right now is that my girl got me face time with Aro Volturi.

_My girl?_

I finally find it in me to calm down and place Bella back on her feet. She sways a bit but my hands on her hips quickly guide her back to balance. When I look up at her face, she looks far from happy and I'm confused.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, thinking that her doing this, for me, would at least make her happy too. She breaks away from my hold and walks across the room.

"Do you know what time it will be in half an hour, Edward?" she says, facing away from me.

_Huh?_

I glance down at my watch realizing that its 11:00pm. Basic math tells me that in thirty minutes, it'll be 11:30pm.

_Holy Shit!_

"Rosalie?"

"Yes Edward, Rosalie. Since you have taken her spot, she won't be seeing Aro tonight," she says, turning away from me. I honestly do not understand why in the fuck she cares so much.

"Yeah, so?" I ask, thinking that I'm maybe missing a puzzle piece somewhere.

"You're so damn dense, Cullen. I work for Rosalie Hale. I worked damn hard to get her the time slot that you now safely secure." She pauses and takes in a deep breath. "How the fuck will I explain this to her now?"

She's worried about losing her job?

I walk over to where she's standing, her back towards me, looking off to the side. I plant myself in her line of vision, hoping for her to look at me. When she diverts her gaze again, my fingers reach up, grabbing her face into my hands. Tilting her head back into my direction, I force her to look at me.

"You wound me, Isabella," I whisper to her as I move in closer. "Make no mistake, when I said I wanted you… I do _want you_ but I also meant as my agent. I told you, I'm going to take care of you."

"I don't know if I can, Edward. I… I mean… I,"

"Shush," I tell her, growling low in my chest when her teeth find her lips again. "Don't think about it now. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But your eyes, they can't lie, Isabella. You desire this just as much as I do."

I move my face closer, my lips ghosting over hers. The call of her body is overwhelming and I'm powerless to resist as I touch my lips to hers. The kiss is brief and gentle but my lips feel so right on hers. I take her bottom lip between mine, something I've wanted to do since I saw her biting down on them during our little walk out back. I nibble once, then twice, then three times and place a gentle tug on her lips while pulling back slowly and unwillingly.

I want so much more but now is definitely not the time.

"You have to get me ready, Isabella," I pull away from her body entirely, fighting urges to bring her back into me. "As you can see, I'm quite a mess here."

She chuckles and steps away from me, walking back over to the sink. The next few minutes, Isabella spends fussing over me. She attempts to tame my hair, and I laugh when she scoffs in frustration every time she tries to brush it left and it ends up right.

She rolls my sleeves down and helps me with my tie. Her expert hands tie the fucking thing like she was made to do it. She doesn't fumble, she doesn't stall… she's just fucking perfect standing there and attending to me.

It's never been clearer to me than in that very moment.

She's exactly what I needed this whole time.

She walks around me, grabbing my jacket and helping me into it. I shrug on the jacket and she moves back to the front of me, buttoning the button in the middle. She works again on my tie, tightening it again just a bit more on my command. When she's done, I'm caught by surprise when her hands run along my neck, coming to rest on my jaw. My stubble tickles her hands and she giggles softly. I smile at the sound because it's so beautiful; it almost takes my breath away.

"You have a lil lipstick right here," she says as her thumb runs along my lips. "You look quite handsome, Mr. Cullen."

I pull her closer to me, needing to feel her warmth against my body. I lean into her ear as I speak.

"And yet, I can never rival your beauty, Miss Swan."

"You ready to do this? Are you okay?" She looks me over again, worried that I might be hiding some sort of distress. I'm beginning to realize that she is my calm. When I'm with her— when she's with me, like this, my cravings are almost non-existent.

Almost.

"I'm ready," I tell her as I extract myself from her grip. She holds onto me and surprises the shit out of me when she grabs onto my neck and pulls me into her. Her lips waste no time molding into mine and I resist the need to grab her from behind and hoist her onto my waist.

She is seriously killing me.

"Isabella," I groan as my pull away from her, my head falling onto her shoulder. I place a soft bite and whisper _later_ into her neck before I tug on her hand, leading her out the door.

* * *

After leaving the tea room, my watch tells me that there is just enough time left for me to make a quick detour at the bar before my meeting with Aro. When my direction changes, I feel Isabella's hands on mine.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Uhmmm, to get a drink," I tell her matter of factly. She stares hard at me, wordlessly stating her opposition.

"Fuck," I say in defeat, knowing that she already has me beat.

"You're going to be fine, Cullen. You don't need a vice to get through this," she tells me, her voice is reassuring but I'm wondering if it's enough for both of us.

I say nothing more as we continue walking, making our way to Aro's office— together. Isabella leads the way as I trail slightly behind her; so near but still too far away. I can't count the number of times I thought about holding her hand in mine as we walked, or stopping and pressing her up onto the wall and kissing her into the next decade.

I definitely couldn't wait to finally get my hands… really get my hands on and all over her.

We reach the door and I turn around to look at Isabella in time to see her just about ready to turn on her heels.

"Well, Edward. Good luck, although you don't really need that from me. You're going to kick ass. I'm so proud of you, I should probably congratulate you in advance."

_She's leaving me? Now? She can't be fucking serious…_

She says no more and then she's turning… she's walking away… she's saying goodbye.

Not on my watch.

My hand shoots out as I barely grip the material of her dress by the waist. I tug lightly on it, not wanting to damage it. When I have a better clutch on her, my hands wound around her waist, bringing her body back to mine. Isabella's eyes are filled with shock and confusion as she tries to make sense of my clingy actions.

"The fuck, Isabella? What are you doing?" I ask her, begging her to tell me that Ashton Kutcher was about to pop out of somewhere, and tell me that her leaving me was being filmed for an episode of Punk'd.

"Edward," she begins, her hands coming to rest on my jaw. I'm beginning to realize that I love the way her tiny, little fingers feel on my scruff. I can't help it as I lean harder into her warm touch. "This is between you and Aro."

Her response stuns me and I have to pull away from her to really study her face; to see if her expression matches the seriousness of her tone. Quite frankly, I don't understand her at all right now.

"Oh no no no. No you don't.," As I say the words, my hand clamp tighter around her waist, almost crushing her to me. "You're in this just as much as I am, woman."

"Edward…" She tries to protest again but I am not having any of it.

"Look, I need you in there with me, okay. I can't do this without you, I won't. Just… please?"

My hands remove themselves from around Isabella's waist as I watch how she opens her mouth to respond. Even before she is able to get any words out, the door opens and Aro is standing before us, inviting us both inside.

* * *

We're sitting at a large, rectangular mahogany desk— Aro on one side, Isabella and myself on the other side, directly across from him. Since we entered the room, Aro has said nothing but peasantries.

Have a seat… How are you, Edward? Isabella? ... Would you care for a drink? ... Are you enjoying the party?

I swear he's the creepiest fucker I've ever met as he now sits across us. He is leant forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. His fingers are intertwined under his chin, index finger tapping away at his cheek. He's continually looking from me to Isabella and in the last minute and a half; he's never broken the routine.

In my stomach, there are knots. Every time Aro does something sinister like smile at Isabella or look at me from head to toe, those knots wound a little tighter. I'm beginning to think; pretty soon I won't be able to breathe.

"So, Edward," Aro's voice pulls me away from the tragedy raging inside of me. "Where is Tanya? I thought I saw her earlier. I must have been mistaken."

What a way to break the ice, huh?

Ten minutes into this thing and I'm already annoyed. I didn't come here to waste time on unimportant and unnecessary topics like Tanya. By the way, why in the fuck could I even think about Tanya when I have this queen sitting beside me?

"Believe me when I say I mean no disrespect, Mr. Volturi," I tell him, wanting him to get this very clear. "But, why don't we let bygones be bygones. Miss Swan here will represent me now. That's all that matters in those regards right now."

Aro lifts his hands in surrender and I let out a safe breath, thanking God he dropped that subject.

"Okay okay, Cullen. Let's get down to business, shall we?" Aro says and I watch in horror as he pulls the drawer, retrieving a packet of Du Maurier. He removes one from the pack and places it between his lips.

_Fuck… fuck … fuck_

My eyes shoot over to where Isabella is seated, and I could see that she's just as shocked as I am. I tear my eyes away from hers, swallowing heavily, forcing the bile threatening to burst up out of my chest back down. Aro produces a lighter from his jacket pocket and although I shouldn't, I can't help but watch as he brings his hands up to his face, flicking at the lighter, and lighting up the cigarette right there and then.

My eyes find Isabella's again— always finding Isabella. I can't imagine how my face must look right now. I feel like a little boy again… back at sixteen years, being pressured into smoking my first cigarette. A memory I thought I had laid to rest a very long time ago.

I watch her and as ever, she always knows what to say.

'_You can do this,' _she mouths to me and although not totally convinced, I am determined to trust her. She's never steered me wrong before and I'd hate to think she'd start now.

Somewhere between watching Aro lighting up his cigarette and searching Isabella's soulful eyes for answers, I manage to grab a toothpick out of my pocket. It's between my hand— the one that's not currently engaged in a vice grip with my thigh. My fingers run along the stem, occasionally pricking themselves on the pointed ends.

Aro takes one look at me but I can't understand his expression.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I'm being rude," _Why yes, you fucking are_. "Would you like a smoke, Edward?"

_What the fuck is wrong with people? _I scream in my head. My jaw hardens and my chest rises and falls in quick succession. My heart feels as if it's about to explode from its place inside of me. My fingers grip and release the handles of the chair as Aro's second hand smoke diffuses around me. My feet are bouncing nervously beneath me.

I can't do this. I can't. I motherfucking do not have to sit here and take this.

I'm just about ready to fly up out of this seat and bolt for the doors, so done with this shit; but Isabella's hand reaches out under the table and clamps down onto my thighs. My eyes follow the movement and I look down as she runs her delicate fingers up and down my legs. Her fingers occasionally stop at different spots, sometimes running lines across my thighs or tracing circular shapes over them.

I try my best not to close my eyes and moan as I feel a radiant rush of calm surge through me. Before too long, my breathing is still slightly above normal but under enough control for now. My legs are now still, afraid my erratic movements will in any way hinder the perfect work of art that is Isabella's fingers.

I finally have the courage and strength that I need to answer Aro's question. In my panic attack, it seems like he'd asked it ages ago.

"No, thank you, Aro. I…" I stumble over words, but recover almost as if I didn't. I finally raise the toothpick and place it into my mouth as I smile a bit.

"Actually, I just quit smoking."

The pride I feel at the words is indescribable. I look over at Isabella, feeling as if making eye contact with her every two seconds is mandatory. She nods at me, pride welling up in her eyes as well. She silently tells me to go on— to tell him; to tell him everything.

And that I do.

I spend the next forty-five minutes detailing the past month of my life to Aro. He intervenes at certain times, asking questions and making apt comments here and there. Isabella is not absent from the conversation either, both Aro and I including her at appropriate times. Her hand never leaves my thigh the entire time, one of my own joining hers at some point, just needing to be more connected to her. It's fucking astounding how composed I am because she's here, even with Aro smoking his cigarette, only a few feet away from me.

We talk, we laugh and we even down a few drinks and before we know it, the meeting is over.

"Well kids," Aro says dismissively and while I had a hell of a time, I'm quite fucking ready to get Isabella somewhere where I can thank her most ardently. "Why don't you go on now? Eat, drink, dance, and celebrate. I'll be in touch."

Aro embraces Isabella before turning to me and shaking my hand.

"Enjoy the rest of the party," he tells us before escorting us out. As soon as the door shuts behind us, and Aro is headed down the staircase, I slump against it, breathing out a ginormous sigh of relief.

"Congratulations," Isabella squeals beside me, and I don't even have to look over at her to know that she's practically vibrating with excitement right now. "You did it, Cullen. You did it… you did it… you did it!"

I fix my gaze on her, my stare hard and furious. I want to hold her in my arms and shake some fucking sense into her. She's being utterly ridiculous.

I grab onto her shoulders, running my fingers down the length of her arms and finally stopping at her finger. I interlock mine into hers, bringing her hands in mine up to my lips.

"We," I clarify and watch as Isabella gasps, her free hand reaching up and covering her mouth. "We did it, baby. I could've never done this without…"

Before I can even finish, Isabella grabs my face and pulls me down to her height, kissing me fiercely. Those lips; her lips… they create choreographed symphonies against mine. I can't even begin to understand how I've spent the last twenty-eight years of my life wandering around, impishly trying to satisfy myself with other women, when this one… my Isabella Swan, has been the one all along.

"Fuuu… fuck," I groan against her lips when I feel her tongue begging for penetration. How can I fucking deny her?

I open my mouth to her and she's telling me she needs this just as much as I do. My tongue fuses with hers and I can't help myself as I spin her around, slamming her into the door behind me. For a moment, we lose focus and balance as the door buckles under our weight, sending us both crashing onto the floor of the room with respective 'oomphs'.

Holy fuck… the room.

Aro's office. We're in _Aro's Office_.

While my brain tries to compute what is really happening, Isabella is lying above me. She's giggling and her cheeks are flushed and the rose-color coupled with her perfect red lips and the way, they smile up at me is just about enough to do me in.

I waggle my eyebrows at her as I try to ignore the pain in my back from when I landed on the floor. I roll us over and bring my lips back down onto her's quickly. I pull away saying nothing, and I remove myself from over her and rising to my feet. Isabella groans in protest, red lips pouting at me from her place on the floor.

I chuckle as I make my way to the door, closing it and with a quick movement; I double-bolt the door.

Isabella's breath hitches as I turn around, leaning back onto the door. There is no sign of amusement in my face anymore. I'm quite ready to get down to business. It's been a long ass night— for both parties involved.

"You are so fucking beautiful," I tell her; wanting her to know, needing her to believe my words. I remove my jacket, walking over to where she is on the floor. I stoop next to her, running a hand down her face, brushing a few wild hairs out of her face. I stand back up, holding out a hand to her. When she grabs it, I help her up and before she is fully on her feet, she leaps into my arms, legs bound around my waist.

I walk her over to Aro's desk, placing her against the edge of it. In a split second, I'm on my knees in front of her. My fingers make quick work of her heels, unbuckling the thin straps. After I get one off, I fling it over my shoulders as I do with the other. I take one foot in my hand and kiss her ankle.

"You deserve to be worshipped," I whisper against the silk of her skin as I skim my way up her calves. I pepper soft kisses everywhere, not willing to neglect one damn inch of her skin. Hiking her dress up and holding her leg out, I kiss the back of her knees. Her leg twitches in my hand and I know… I know. I feel the same things; maybe even more.

I kiss my way up and over her thighs, getting higher and higher to that place. Isabella's body quivers above mine and I know exactly what she wants— what she craves. Her legs try to clamp together but I won't have it.

"Uh uh uh," I tell her, spreading them back open to me. "I'm not done with you yet; far from, actually."

Isabella groans and throws her head back as I repeat my actions on her other legs. I'm torn because her neck looks so fucking enticing. I have to force myself to remain in my position at her feet.

Kisses everywhere.

I'm at her thighs again and I'm so close to her core, I can smell her arousal all around me. My nose skims across the lining of her underwear before I stand quickly and my hands grip at Isabella's dress. I'm quite fucking ready for this thing to be off her but I don't want to ruin it.

As careful as I can be, my hands pull the dress up and off Isabella's body. If I thought she was beautiful with that damn dress on, then fuck me because she's a fucking goddess with it off.

"Fuck, baby," I choke out as I move in and place a kiss against her lips. I place two small kisses on her top lip, one at each end and doing the same with the bottom. When I pull back the last time, her response is maddening.

"C'mere," she whispers and then she is pulling me by my collar, crashing my lips into hers. She's frantic, she's everywhere. She wants, she needs. She feels it too. Every emotion, every static, every fuse comes alight when she kisses me this way.

He tongue caresses mine and I moan into her mouth when I feel her hands tugging onto my tie. She yanks it off my neck, discarding it behind her.

"You have way too many clothes on, Cullen."

Before I know it, her lips are back on mine while my shirt loosens one button at a time. I quickly become frantic and I shrug out of it. My lips find hers again and I rejoice at the feel of flesh on flesh. Her breasts press against my torso and my hands find her hips, moving up her ribcage. When they find her breasts, we both let out accompanying groans as I cup her. My thumbs lightly brush against her nipples, feeling them harden under my touch.

"Look at you, baby," I tell her when I pull away from her lips. "Look at how you body responds when my mine calls. Makes me wonder in what other ways you are ready for me."

As I say the words, my fingers tingle in anticipation. One hand remains, groping, flicking and teasing Isabella's nipples, as the other one travels south bound. I run a straight line down the middle of her stomach, stopping only to make three light traces along the edge her belly button. I continue my trek downward until my hand meets lace.

I hiss under my breath as my hand runs along the lining, my eyes never leaving her face. Her bottom lip, good god, her lip is between her teeth again. My hands are both in very compromising positions right now, neither of which are willing to relent. I lean forward and tug her lip from their lodged position between her teeth with my own.

When my hand finally slips into her panties, I can't help the grunt that escapes my lips. She feels so fucking perfect and wet under my fingers. My fingers say hello to heaven as they slide along her wetness. I circle her clit a few times, before running my fingers along the length of her pussy.

Once… twice… again and again.

One set of fingers find her entrance teasing while the other continues their work at her breasts. My fingers trace along her slit as Isabella moans above me.

"My god, Isabella. How fucking drenched you are."

All of this, for me. Lucky fucking bastard.

"Edward," she pants above me and the sound of my name, falling from her lips in this state of arousal, absolutely does me in. My fingers shove harshly inside of her and her hands grab onto the hair at the nape of my neck.

"Holy fuck," she squeals and I look up at her.

"Shhhhh, Isabella," I tell her as I slowly extricate my finger and slides it back into her almost instantly. She muffles her moans as my fingers work inside her, gliding in and out of her with ease.

My mouth is frantic, placing kisses everywhere I can. Her eyes, nose, cheeks, lips and chin. I bring my lips over to one ear and place a kiss on the lobe before moving over to the other. When I get to the other, my hand leaves her breast, pushing away some fallen strands as I kiss the back of her ear. I literally pry one of her hands from their death grip on my neck and bringing it down to where my dick is practically straining against my jeans.

"Go on, girl," I tell her, placing her hand on my throbbing cock. "Feel how mad you make me."

The feel of her fingers on my clothed cock is amazing, but I wasn't fucking ready for the feel of her bare hands on me. Somehow, Isabella has managed to undo my pants and now they, along with my boxers are pooled at my ankles. Her hand wraps around me and my body jolts, my fingers twisting violently inside her.

"Oh... oh… oh," she moans and starts pumping me. Before too long, there is tightening in my stomach and fuck it, if she keeps on me this way, I just might blow right in her hands.

I want inside.

My fingers pull out from inside of her and I take a quick step back from her. My fingers curl into the lace removing the final piece of clothing from her body.

I gaze at her naked form on the desk before me, and I think I try to say words but how do you describe such beauty when the mere word beauty itself is a million times insufficient?

I groan when Isabella slides back onto the table, her ivory skin a work of art against the mahogany. She props both her legs up onto the desk and holy fuck; she's spread out for me. I'm pretty sure my jaw hits the floor when I see her curling her fingers, inviting me in.

I waste no time in giving my girl exactly what she needs.

In a matter of seconds, I have a condom rolled onto me and I'm inside, sheathed, and all the way in.

"Fucking tight," I say through clenched teeth as I pull out and push forward again. "You're strangling me, fuck."

"Unnngggg… so…. God… Edward baby," Isabella moans under me. "So filling."

"To the fucking hilt, babygirl," I say as I pull out, plunging into her harder this time. She moves a little way up the table, and I place my hands on her hips to steady her as I thrust over and over.

In… out. In… out. And in again.

The air fills with swears and moans, grunts and groans.

"Isabella, what are you doing to me?" My hands move from her hips and reach under her back and onto her shoulder.

"You. Drive. Me. Insane. With. Your. Flawless. Body." Each word stressed with its own thrust.

My hands on her shoulders pull her down onto me while I drive up into her. Her hands pull me down onto her, as her lips find mine. Her fingers grip extra hard on the hair at the nape of my neck, as her lips devour mine.

Me, being inside of her… god, it is meant to be.

I want more.

I pull out of her, both of us groans at the loss. I lift Isabella, flipping us over so that she is now suspended on top of me. In no time, I pull her down, impaling her again.

"Oh sweet heavens," she moans as she rolls and circles her hips. I can't help myself as I thrust up into her and god, she's so fucking tight and perfect and just made for me.

I sit up quickly, feeling my release lurking.

"Hold onto your ankles, Isabella," I tell her, my hands pushing at her shoulders. I fucking love that she is quick on my commands. In two seconds, she's bent over and I'm back inside of her— where I feel right at home.

"Ed… ward… Edward," she pants and my hands tighten on her hips as I propel into her. I know what she's trying to tell me.

I'm inside and then I'm out, wasting no time before I'm inside again.

_Harder, harder._

_Deeper, deeper._

Her body silently commands me and no matter how far my hard cock drills into her, it's never enough. My knees grow weak and I quickly lower Isabella and I to our knees before we fall over.

"Hold on, baby." I grab one of her legs and bring it around my own waist. I bury myself deep into her as I draw her back against me and holy damn; it's electrifying, the air buzzing with both our arousals.

"Fuccccccccccck," she screams, and I know, I goddamn know.

"Feel… that… baby," I tell her, unable to stop moving against her. I'm ready, so fucking close. I reach a hand around her, rubbing hard on her clit, not wanting to do this without her. She moans. "That's it… that's fucking us, babygirl. Come with me."

One last thrust sends us both over the edge and I feel her explode around me as I come inside of her. My vision blacks out for a moment as I thrust inside of her weakly two more times… or maybe three, I'm not really sure. When we both realize that we actually survived our climaxes, I slide out of her and gather her up into my arms before we both collapse onto the floor.

"I have no words," I tell her, kissing her forehead and grabbing her up into my arms, holding her close.

I definitely want that to happen again… SOON!

"I know," is all she says as she nestles back into my chest. Her hands are on my thighs, making those light circles again and I instantly remember something I needed to ask her.

"How did you know that would help me?"

I feel her smile beneath me, and I know that she knows to what I'm referring.

"I didn't," she says, turning around to look into my eyes. "I just knew I needed to do something, anything to get you focused; to calm you, and well, I guess that was the best thing at the moment."

She shrugs and turns back around.

"It was and thank you," I tell her as I turn her back toward me, needing her to know how grateful I am that she stumbled into my life when she did. "Thank you, for everything."

Her smile rivals the sun and before I know it, my lips find hers, not wanting to be anywhere else.

I groan and pull away when I feel her hands trailing down my chest, and then lower and then lower.

"Isabella," I whimper, kissing her neck. "As much as I'd love to stay here and fuck you a_gain_, we have to get back."

Isabella huffs but she conforms knowing that I'm right. She pulls away but before I let her go, I need her to know that I'm not done with her.

"Hey hey hey," I tug her backward and into me and murmur against her neck as I ghost my lips against her quickening pulse point. "Later— You. Me. My hotel room. You are not to leave this party alone. You leave with me."

She moans and nods once, telling me exactly what I need to hear without words.

After reluctantly pulling away from each other, we fumble to redress, searching the entire room for certain pieces of our clothes— but mostly because we're just fucking insatiable and can't keep our hands off each other.

"You ready, baby?" I ask her, not only talking about getting back to the party but also talking about starting our journey together; whatever the hell that might mean.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she responds tiptoe-ing and placing one last kiss on my lips. I hold her body against mine for a little longer than intended, never wanting to let go of her lips ever.

Finally we pull away, panting all over each other and make our way over to the door. I pull a piece of paper from Isabella's hair and she hurriedly runs another hand through it as I open the door.

Isabella and I both gasp at what we see as we both step out the door and into the hall, hand in hand.

Or rather who.

Rosalie fucking Hale.

"So Isabella, this is where you've been all this time?"

* * *

E/N: So we'll just be over here in our respective corners of the East Coast! Yup…

Thank you forever for all your support guys. Y'all are truly the most amazing. Love you more than Edward loves those toothpicks.

PackyMac :)


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